


I Wish It From Myself

by RoseCathy



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Season/Series 05, Season/Series 06, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:25:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseCathy/pseuds/RoseCathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU after Holoship. Rimmer is unhappy after his stint on the Enlightenment, and Lister is the only person he can confide in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from “Songbird”. My writing owes a lot to Eva Cassidy (although her version of the song doesn’t actually have that lyric).

Rimmer was still sulking. No amount of winding up or cajoling, which Lister had applied in near-equal proportions for the better part of a week, had been successful in opening the floodgates.

He had been so ready to abandon Red Dwarf ( _and me, the person he was supposed to keep sane,_ peeped a resentful little voice from somewhere) for those pompous cretins and their stupid ship. Something — that is, something aside from the failed mind patch — had clearly gone awry, but he would not talk about it, and Lister’s curiosity was eating away at him.

Besides, living in a quiet room was getting old.

“It’s unnatural, is what it is,” Lister told Jim Bexley Speed.

Rimmer let out a long-suffering sigh. “What is?”

“ _This._ You not talking to me.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, Lister.”

“You know what I mean.” Lister leaned down to look into the lower bunk. “We used to tell each other things. Important things.”

“What’s it to you?” Rimmer replied acidly, his eyes still fixed on his hologrammatic _The Reign of Napoleon Bonaparte_. “I told you, if you want to hear about the sex deck, forget it.”

Lister knew he was acting like a child, but he nevertheless relished tossing his magazine onto the floor, not the least because the thud made Rimmer look up. “Do you mind? I’m trying to read.”

“The smeg you are.” Lister hopped down to stand beside the bunks. “Look, man, at least complain about it. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

“You mean it’ll make _you_ feel better,” Rimmer countered. “Because you can’t stand a little peace and quiet — oh, no, it has to be gabber, gabber and mindless chat all the time.”

“Are you going to talk to me or not?”

  


Rimmer flinched when Lister sat down on his bunk, getting dangerously close to breaching his projection. The goit had a knack for invading his personal space. He didn’t need this, not now. Even though Lister’s eyes and voice were unusually soft as he asked, “Why’d you leave?”

“If you must know…” Rimmer paused. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but what the smeg. It didn’t matter, just like nothing in his life mattered. “If you _must_ know, there was a woman.”

Lister frowned, confused. “So?”

“I - oh, what’s the point.” Rimmer rolled over to face the wall. “Ifellinlove.”

“Love?” Lister’s disbelief vibrated in the air. “You? Fell in love?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Rimmer snapped at the wall. “With a beautiful, clever woman. And as difficult as it might be to believe, she had feelings for me too.”

Lister leaned back toward the wall, compelling Rimmer to look over at him. “I don’t understand. Then what was the problem? _Oh_ …” He grinned slyly. “Was it the mandatory sex thing? You only wanted each other, but you had to shag other people as well? I never took you for such a romantic, Rimsy.”

Rimmer turtled. “Shut up! I knew this was a bad idea.”

  


Lister winced guiltily. There was a time and a place for levity, and this was obviously neither. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean…I’m sorry.”

Rimmer growled into his pillow. “It was stupid, anyway,” he mumbled. “We knew each other for five seconds. But she gave up her position for me.”

“What, she got herself shut off? For you?”

“Like I said, it was stupid. I couldn’t let her go through with it.”

“And now you’ll never see each other again.” Lister felt tears prickling in his eyes. This was pretty smegging romantic, actually.

Rimmer looked daggers at him. “Are you - for _smeg’s sake,_ Lister! This is my life, not one of your ridiculous soap operas!”

Lister sniffled. “Sorry. But look at the bright side - ”

“There is no bright side.”

“Steady on. I was going to say, at least you know you’re loved. By a beautiful, clever woman, no less. That’s got to count for something.”

“If you say so.”

\------

Rimmer lay awake late into the night, turning his thoughts over and over in his mind. He had to admit, unburdening himself to Lister had made him feel significantly better. Maybe all those soppy television programmes had given Lister some expertise in these matters.

He thought longingly of Nirvanah. Her soft skin, her skillful hands and lips, the caressing way she called him “Arnie”. He didn’t regret giving up his post on the Enlightenment, but it was grossly unfair — never during his death would he get another shot at happiness, or what passed for it amid the holo-crew. Being able to touch, taste, make love…

Maybe Lister was right about all the romance smeg. He’d always thought he was unlovable, but Nirvanah had proven him wrong. That had to count, even if the end result was miserable.

“Rimmer?”

“What?” He couldn’t help a little smile at the comical upside-down face.

Somehow, those eyes seemed to flash affectionately even in the darkness. For a few seconds, they simply looked at each other, then Lister broke the spell. “I just…I’m glad we talked.”

Rimmer responded to this with a noncommittal grunt. “I’m trying to sleep, Listy.”

“Yeah, me too.”

  


Lister lay back down on his pillow. Maybe he was overly soppy, but his heart ached for Rimmer. The entire holoship incident had been a disaster from start to finish, really.

But what could he do to help Rimmer feel better? Did he _want_ to feel better, or did he need more time to wallow? _I would give him a hug if -_ and he nodded off with the image of Rimmer curled up in his bunk, shutting out the world, wavering in front of his closed eyes.


	2. Inquisitor

For all intents and purposes, existence on Red Dwarf was back to normal. Other than the unfortunate space weevil infestation in the Officers’ Club, which was most likely down to the cache of snacks, toys, and snack/toys that Cat had built behind the bar, nothing of note occurred in the month following the crew’s encounter with the Enlightenment.

Save, of course, Lister’s newfound career as Rimmer’s psychiatrist.

The night after they first talked, Rimmer strolled into their quarters to find Lister perched on the lower bunk, feet resting on a chair. “Hey, man.”

“May I ask what you’re doing?” Rimmer enquired peevishly.

“Waiting for you,” Lister replied as if it were the most obvious answer in the universe. “I thought we could talk more.”

“About what? And why do you have to sit there?”

“Because it’s easier this way.” Lister retrieved a cigarette from his hat. “What was the other question? Oh, about stuff, you know…love and that.”

“Thanks, Lister, that really clears things up,” Rimmer said sarcastically. “And in case you’d forgotten, miladdo - ” — he swatted at the cigarette between Lister’s lips and pointed to the sign — “No smoking.”

“Fair enough. Wanna sit?”

Rimmer rolled his eyes as he sat back against his pillows, bending his legs to prevent them going through Lister. “Why this sudden fascination with my life, or whatever we call it?”

”Just taking an interest, that’s all. Think of it as free counselling.” 

“I hardly think you’re qualified.” But what the hell — anything to keep from wallowing too much more.

  


Lister wasn’t certain why he was so fascinated, either. There was the genuine desire to help his bunkmate, smeghead though he was, but it was more than that. Curiosity, maybe. He hadn’t quite got his head round the idea of someone falling in love with Rimmer. That someone, he learned, was Commander ( _Commander!_ ) Nirvanah Crane. She had fiery red hair, creamy skin, soulful blue eyes. She was intelligent and caring. So caring.

“I even told her I cheated,” Rimmer admitted one night, frowning and waving his hands fruitlessly at the cigarette smoke. “But she didn’t seem to care about that. Said I deserved a chance to grow.”

“Into what?”

“Into someone I like, I suppose. That’s what I told her.”

Later, when their room was enveloped in darkness, Lister hugged his pillow and reflected on what he’d learned. An accomplished, gorgeous woman who sacrificed literally everything for a neurotic mess of an outdated hologram. It beggared belief, honestly.

He tried taking on her perspective. Rimmer wasn’t bad-looking, he supposed. All that curly hair, greenish-brown eyes. The nostrils were a bit…well. He was tall — women probably liked that, especially if he looked down at them with a real smile instead of smirking smugly and slid his arms round - 

Wait. What the smeg was he doing, imagining being hugged by Rimmer?

 _I’m lonely, that’s all. Just going a bit space-crazy from loneliness._ And how unfair was it that he hadn’t made love to anyone other than his parallel self for three million-plus years and counting while Rimmer - 

_No. No no no no no no!_ Rimmer having sex was not something he’d set out to picture. Urgh! He put his pillow over his head as if that could stop the mental images. _Was probably crap at it anyway…_

  


As the month went on, Rimmer noticed a subtle change in how Lister interacted with him. Not only did he now think nothing of sitting in the bottom bunk and blatantly disobeying the No Smoking sign, but he was also getting more touchy-feely, or as much so as he could be under the circumstances.

Lister had always been a giver of pats and hugs with little regard for personal bubbles, although he hadn’t often been that way with Rimmer even when he was alive. But lately, he seemed to lean a little bit closer when he sensed ( _How the hell did he know, anyway?_ ) that Rimmer felt particularly down, even if it was only because Cat had been Cat all day.

Even more disconcertingly, Lister sometimes smiled at him in a way that somehow reminded him of soft sunset clouds, soft and all-embracing… _embracing?_ No, no, no. He was going a bit mad, that was all, still mired in his heartsickness over Nirvanah. Which he wouldn’t be in the first place if Lister hadn’t dragged every bit of memory to the surface in the name of counselling.

\------

This was not good. This was not good at all.

The Inquisitor had all but erased him and Kryten from history. Rimmer would remember him, though, surely. Surely.

“Fiona Barrington. Fifteen years of age, you got off with her in your dad’s greenhouse. You thought you got lucky but it turned out that all the time you had your hand in warm compost. How could I know that and not know you?”

“Not true,” Rimmer muttered in an aside to Cat. Lister rattled off a few more well-remembered details. Rimmer seemed to acknowledge their veracity, yet he refused to budge. Lister began to panic. Rimmer had to remember him, he _had_ to, before it was too late - 

“…a cheating, weaselly, lowlife scumbucket - ” he paused, trying to rein in his hysteria. “But underneath all that, there’s a nice person. And I know this because I’ve sat up with you for the past I don’t know how many weeks, talking - ”

“Sir, you’ve got to help us,” Kryten interjected. “The Inquisitor will stop at nothing to obliterate us.”

The door behind them opened with a whir, and an oddly familiar Scouse voice asked, “Who the smeg are these guys, Rimmer?”

This was not good at all.

\------

Lister collapsed on the bottom bunk. “Well, that’s that.”

“You’re in my bunk.” Was it his imagination, or did Rimmer sound less irritated than he’d normally be? Lister heaved himself off and stood beside him.

Rimmer pursed his lips in thought. “You know, what you said to me back there - ”

“Oh, yeah, if I brought up bad memories - I was getting desperate.”

“No, it’s…what you said about there being a nice person underneath.” Their eyes met, and Lister found himself staring outright. Rimmer did have nice eyes, and they were currently soft with…something. “That’s exactly what Nirvanah said.”

“Oh.” Lister wasn’t sure what else to say. “That’s good.”

“Mm.” Rimmer shrugged. “Anyway, I’m glad everything’s sorted. It’s strange to think that Cat and I would never have known the difference.”

The idea rapidly filled Lister with dread. “I guess you wouldn’t.” He felt a sudden urge to hold on to something ( _or someone_ ), to ground himself. Without thinking, he leaned forward, arms reaching - then he caught himself and shook his head, feeling awkward under Rimmer’s gaze. “If you weren’t a hologram…maybe…”

Rimmer gave him a strange look that turned into a small smile. “I’m not so bad after all, am I?”

Lister smiled back. “No, you’re not so bad.”

They were stood almost nose to nose now. For a brief moment, Lister was sure that Rimmer was staring unabashedly into his eyes as well. Then…

“Good night, Listy.”

“Yeah.” Right. Sleep. “Good night.”

After a dazed climb up to his own bed, Lister felt the urge again — to reach out somehow, shake off that dread. Or maybe he was going crazy. “Rimmer?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I burned your soldiers.”

There was a short silence, then Rimmer chortled. “Shall I throw your guitar in the fire now? Then we’d be even.”

“Eh?“

“Ah, I’ll think of something. Don’t you worry, miladdo.”

Despite the threat, the last thought Lister had before falling asleep was that he should have stayed in the other bunk, if only to prove that they both existed.


	3. Psi-moon

Rimmer was saying something about a planet. Lister, still mostly asleep, didn’t really hear him.

  


Truthfully, Rimmer would rather have had Lister for company, but he was sleeping ( _sucking his thumb like an overgrown baby, again_ ), and Kryten was available.

\------

“Confabulation in the cockpit. Not you, sir.”

That was just typical. Excluding him from a discussion about him, _his_ psi-moon. The cockpit door closed in his face, and Starbug lurched again.

Who was he kidding? Yes, they’d rescued him from the self-loathing beast, for which he was grateful. The goodwill seemed to end there, though, even from…Rimmer folded his arms and turned his back to the lot of them.

_“If you weren’t a hologram…maybe…”_

_“No, you’re not so bad.”_

Whatever had sprung up between him and Lister in the past few weeks had evidently not been enough to mitigate his demons. Too new, perhaps. It was only a small collection of moments — sweet (Was that the word?), yet small.

Or maybe they weren’t moments at all. Maybe the slow gentle smiles and thwarted reachings-out meant nothing - Starbug gave another violent lurch. Still reeling and nauseated, Rimmer barely noticed the hand on his arm or the fact that it was possible for Lister to put his hand there.

“Can we talk?”

“Now?”

In contrast to Rimmer’s near-hysterical tone, Lister’s voice was oddly calm. “Yes, now. Let’s go upstairs.”

That was easier said than done. Although the sudden movements had subsided, Starbug was still quaking. “Whoa! Sorry, man.” The hand on Rimmer’s arm had slipped lower; without thinking, he gripped it tightly. Oh, it felt good to touch again (to touch _anything_ , he told himself), to squeeze. It was silly, honestly, if you thought about it, all the meaning and nuances ascribed to the act of putting your hand on someone else’s and applying strength. Except he hadn’t been able to do so for such a long time and _for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction._ What was he doing? What were they doing?

They stumbled into their sleeping quarters, and the door slid closed, leaving them facing each other with fingers still intertwined.

  


“Rimmer, you can let go now if…” Lister clamped his mouth shut. _If what? If I’ve been deceiving myself all along?_

“You wanted to talk.” Now it was Rimmer who sounded oddly calm.

 _I lied._ “I can touch you.”

 _So?_ Rimmer’s eyes seemed to ask. _What do you plan to do about it, Listy?_

 _Not let go._ Lister did loosen his grip, but only briefly, only so that he could grab Rimmer by the shoulders and kiss him.

It was wonderful. More importantly, it was real. The meeting of lips, the slide of tongues, the warmth and the quick heartbeats and - Lister found himself nodding in encouragement as Rimmer slid a hand under his jacket and moved a firm palm upward from the small of his back. The other hand eventually joined it further up, between his shoulder blades, anchoring him here to this moment.

Then Rimmer abruptly pulled away. “We can’t do this.”

“What?” Lister gasped. How could he be so heartless?

Rimmer looked down. “Once we…we won’t…won’t.” And he understood. Once they got off the psi-moon, Rimmer would be a hologram again, and all this would be a distant dream. No matter how strongly they might crave this, they wouldn’t be able to taste it again. Rimmer wanted to head the addiction off at the pass.

Lister wasn’t built that way. He was of the opinion that they had to enjoy this while they could. He wrapped his arms around Rimmer’s neck, quelling any protest that might have escaped those soft, eager lips.

“You know,” he breathed on a brief pause, “if we slowed down a bit, we could probably buy more time…I mean, of course there’s the quicksand.”

“Would that be so bad?” Rimmer breathed back. And then they were chuckling at the sad absurdity of it all as they kissed and touched and held on desperately, afraid to waste a nanosecond more. The ship was juddering and whining, but who cared? - 

The thrusters roared back to life, lifting Starbug out and away. At the same moment, Lister fell through Rimmer into the door. “Ow! Smeg!”

  


Lister pressed a hand to his lips. For a horrible moment, Rimmer thought he was wiping the kiss off. Destroying the evidence. When the hand stayed firm, he understood — it was an attempt to retain the sensation, the memory. He copied the gesture, but …

“I can’t feel it anymore,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s gone.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t feel real.” It was, though. It _was_ \- had been - real. Hadn’t it?

Before either of them could say anything more, they heard heavy footsteps. The door slid open to a beaming Kryten.

“Sirs, we’ve taken off! We’re saved!” The mechanoid paused, taking in their slumped shoulders and crestfallen expressions. “Mr Lister? Your plan worked.“

 _Plan?_ Rimmer glanced up. Lister had taken his hand away and was smiling at Kryten with - were those tears in his eyes?

“Yeah, I…that’s great, man. Listen, could you leave us alone for a bit? We need to talk.”

Kryten looked befuddled; however, he wasn’t in the habit of questioning Lister. “Certainly, sir.”

  


“Lock,” Lister ordered softly. It took him everything he had to turn and look Rimmer in the eye.

“Plan?”

“It wasn’t like that. Not the way you think.” Lister instinctively reached out to cup Rimmer’s face; then he remembered, and his hand dropped halfway through the movement.

The hologram’s voice was almost as insubstantial as his projection. “What was it like, then?”

“I told them I had a plan, but really…it was my only chance,” Lister shuddered at how small and pathetic he sounded. “Our only chance.” 

Rimmer gave a hollow laugh. “Not very romantic after all, is it, Listy?”

Lister had no answer. He watched as Rimmer soundlessly walked over to his bunk and threw himself on it. He could join him there, park himself at the foot of the bed as usual, pull up a chair to rest his feet on. Or he could lie down carefully next to Rimmer, pretend for a few minutes that they could have the intimacy he knew they’d both been yearning for.

_What would be the point?_

“No,” he answered belatedly. “Not very romantic.”


	4. Highs and Lows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, Quarantine will not figure in this story. :(

Lister spent the following night and morning under his Titan Hilton blanket. The irony of him being the one to do this was not lost on him, especially when Rimmer tentatively called his name.

Reluctantly, he uncovered his face. “Yeah?”

Rimmer was sat at the table, facing the bunks. “You haven’t moved for 15 hours.” It took him a few seconds to close his mouth, as though he’d been about to say something else.

“Haven’t felt much like it.” Lister stared again into the eyes before him, trying to gauge the emotion — assuming there was any — in them. _What did yesterday mean to you?_ , he tried to telegraph, then realised it was daft to expect Rimmer to read his mind.

“Kryten was asking if there was anything you wanted - ” Rimmer cleared his throat. “Needed. In the way of food or anything.”

“No, nothing.” More than anything else, Lister wanted to pull the blanket back over his head; however, that would have meant looking away.

“Lister.” _Oh, those eyes._ “Why did you do it?” The question was soft, hopeful even, but it contained a hint of suspicion as well. Or was it accusation?

“I - ” Lister had spent the last 15 hours trying not to put his thoughts into coherent words because that would have meant facing them. There was just no precedent for something like this. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” Rimmer’s expression was unreadable.

“No, that’s not true.” Words were coming back. Some painful, others useful. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for awhile now, and it’s - the truth is, I don’t understand it. I mean, let’s face it, you’re not really my type.”

“Well, you’re most definitely not _my_ type. And we don’t get on.”

“Exactly.”

“So what are we doing?”

The “we” made Lister smile. At least he wasn’t in this alone. “Maybe there doesn’t have to be a whole logical explanation. Maybe we can just…carry on.”

“There’s not much we can carry on with, Lister, given that I’m dead.” Now Rimmer looked sad, like he had after…god, it had been so sweet, so thrilling. But never again. _You’re a bloody fool,_ chanted a nagging voice in his head. _You should have listened to him. Better yet, you shouldn’t have done it._

Lister cleared his throat to shush the voice. What had he got to lose? “Can I lie down with you?”

Rimmer’s matter-of-fact response took him by surprise. “All right.”

It was uncomfortable. To avoid breaking through Rimmer’s projection, Lister had to hold himself stiff, inches from falling off the edge of the bunk. The precarious position reminded him of the previous day, when they could have lain closer, could have _touched_ , and the frustrated tears started all over again.

“This isn’t a soap opera either, you know,” came a miffed voice from slightly above his head.

Lister couldn’t help a dry chuckle. “Have a heart, man. No character on any of my soaps has had to deal with this.”

“What was it you once said? ‘Death isn’t the handicap it used to be’? I told you that was a crackpot notion.”

“Oh, shut up, Rimmer.”

And then a miraculous thing happened: Without any dancing around, without any more confused words, Rimmer lowered his lips to Lister’s, just brushing them…or so it seemed. He felt a very faint sensation — warmth, electricity? — and he shivered, wanting more, knowing he wouldn’t get it. He looked up timidly. “Did you feel anything?”

Rimmer shook his head. “Did you?”

“Yeah, I think. There was something.”

\------

It was unbelievable how quickly he’d got used to this. After the first few times, he’d relented and let Lister lie down first, on the inside, so that he wouldn’t have any more accidents to add to his conscience. They took care never to fall asleep together; in addition to feeling unpleasant, having his projection breached also reminded them that he _was_ his projection, hardly more than an elaborate torch-light.

Which was why the triplicator incident was so startling. Apparently, even a hologram could manifest in wildly different ways depending on the conditions. In fact, when Lister, having calmed down since Rimmer had berated Cat into flushing the remote control, told him about their low selves, he felt positively sick.

“A _spiked collar_?”

“Yeah, and a nose-ear ring. And this corsety thing with stockings.”

“You’re joking.”

“What you were wearing was the least of my worries, Rimmer.”

“I know, I - well, I’m sorry.” Rimmer ghosted a hand down Lister’s injured face, hoping it was some comfort. “Although it wasn’t _me_ doing those things, really,” he added, somewhat defensively.

“No, I guess not.” Lister was looking askance at him, as if there might be something else he’d done wrong. He decided not to ask, but -

“Erm, there was…something else you - he said. Aside from all the other smeg.”

“What was it?”

“He said…I don’t know, man, I don’t know if you want to hear it.” Rimmer looked at him, baffled. What could it have been that it made Lister so fidgety?

“He - he said, after the whip…‘I’m going to lash you within an inch of your life, and then I’m going to… _have you_.’”

Rimmer tumbled off (or was it through?) the bunk.

“Smeg! You okay?”

“Oh, yes, Listy, just peachy,” he mumbled from the floor. “What do you think?”

Lister started to offer a hand to help him up, then thought better of it.

\------

They’d hastily moved on to other topics after that, but the damage was done. And judging by the rustling from the upper bunk, Lister was also having trouble sleeping.

They hadn’t discussed escalating things at all. Neither of them was (had been?) tilted that way, for one. Also, given the limitations, the best they could do would be to toss off together, which seemed incredibly silly and undignified when Rimmer (briefly) pictured it. Besides, to take things in that direction would be excessive — outside the boundaries of their comfort-seeking routine.

And yet. “Lister?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I might really be a sadistic…whatever?”

This drew a snort of laughter, at least. “Why’re you asking me?”

“You’re meant to be the counselling expert.”

“Got me there.” Lister hopped down and sat himself at the foot of the lower bunk. “Let me think…you do like giving orders. And you didn’t look too bad in those stockings.”

Rimmer let out an impatient noise. “I was trying to start a serious conversation.”

“Yeah, well.” Lister shrugged. “We could check your holo-whip technique, but I don’t fancy being on the other end, you know what I mean?”

“Fair enough.” And that was that for the time being. He fell easily into a deep sleep, reassured by the dreadlocked shadow that (he imagined) radiated warmth.


	5. All Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some content from Only the Good (Series VIII).

“You’re saying there’s some kind of huge, damn fish out there, aren’t you? Some kind of gigantic pre-historic leviathan who’s porked its way through this entire ocean.”

Rimmer wished Lister wouldn’t be quite so graphic in his descriptions. Then again, he found himself saying of a skeleton minutes later: “It looks like Norman Bates’ mum.” Maybe he could stand to be a little less morbid, too, even if what they’d found was the height of morbid. Suicide everywhere, a depression-inducing sea monster, and so forth.

“I don’t think anyone’s truly loved me in my entire life, but there’s nothing new about that,” Lister sniffled over the comm channel. Rimmer knew it was the hallucinogenic ink talking; nonetheless, he considered the statement for a moment. He’d been pondering something similar lately in light of his whatever-it-was with Lister. And oh, all right, he felt the urge to give the smegger a cuddle (or his weak imitation of one) as well. Perhaps later.

\------

“I’m not a hologram.”

Bewildered though he was, Lister felt a little spark of delight at being able to grab Rimmer’s wrist, then his hand. He stifled a giggle at the silly hair. Maybe, just maybe, despite all the ludicrous things he was hearing, they were going to be all right…

“Sir, I think you should take a look at this. William, meet your brother Sebastian.”

_NO. No, no, no, NO._

Their faces were close, within kissing distance ( _Smeg, smeg, SMEG!_ ), but horror took precedence over all. How had they got into this mess? Why the hell hadn’t the game stopped them?

Sebastian (?) had a peek through the viewscope at their successors. He — “Lister” — was a swaggering macho type who’d already got “Kochanski” at his side, ready to be passionately snogged at a moment’s notice.

If he was honest, ~~Lister~~ Sebastian (??) hadn’t thought too often about Kochanski lately. It wasn’t that ~~Rimmer~~ Billy (?!) had replaced her as the object of his desire, but he was there, and she wasn’t. Or was he beginning to? At any rate, they had built something good, something that had made life in deep space a lot less cold and lonely. _Had._

Of course, the pang of guilt/longing he felt as he pulled Billy closer underneath the Burger Bar sign, touching his arm like he had any right to, was nothing compared to the news that he was a mass-murdering fascist dictator on the run from his own police force. It just added a little more fuel to his conviction that life wasn’t worth living anymore. Not in this reality.

\------

“I _am_ Rimmer?”

“I’m afraid so.”

It could be worse, he decided. He was a hologram, true. However, at least he wasn’t Billy Doyle, even-more-colossal failure, brother of a man he - kissed. Had kissed. Once. He remembered their conversation about his low self, and he winced — eurgh. At least they hadn’t _done_ anything, not that he’d thought about it, no, no…

Granted, he was back to having no physical sensation. He remembered Lister touching his hand and arm, but his body couldn’t remember how it had felt. At that thought, melancholy took over and dampened his relief.

“Hey,” said a soft voice at this shoulder. “You all right, man?”

“Fine,” he said tightly.

“We’ve got some time before we’re back to Red Dwarf. We could…” Lister tilted his head in the direction of the sleeping quarters.

 _At least that’s still an option._ “You go. I’ll be up soon.” He needed some time to shake off the despair, squid-induced or otherwise.

\------

Lister sat on his bunk, knees pulled up so he could rest his head on them. All manner of terrible thoughts were coursing through his mind, chief among them how physically close Rimmer had been during the hallucination. _Kissing distance. Holding distance. Holding hands._

Per their half-unspoken agreement, he hadn’t analysed what this was, what he felt. He tended to focus on the day-to-day. How, even after the usual squabbles and insults, he could count on his place in Rimmer’s bunk, whether sitting at one end or pressed up against the wall. How they attempted the occasional “kiss”, trying not to hark back to the one time they’d had the real thing and instead cherishing it for what it was. How they shared their secrets and spaces, and how much happier they were as a result.

How much it all meant to him.

The door opened. His eyes, for reasons best known to themselves, zeroed in on the hologrammatic scar on Rimmer’s hologrammatic right jaw. It was an excellent reproduction of the person, he had to give that to the JMC. Image-perfect, but only an image.

The image sat down next to him. “Where’d you get that scar?”

“From a fight, years ago. Duel.”

It felt good to laugh again. “A duel? You? Get outta town.”

Rimmer shot a half-hearted glare at him. “Not _a_ duel. ‘Duel’, the old Steven Spielberg movie. Friend of mine attacked me with the video case. Some stupid argument about who had the coolest bicycle clips.”

“Heh.”

“I got him back, though. I peed in his mum’s steam iron. He had yellow t-shirts for a week.”

“You _what_?” Lister couldn’t stop the giggles once they’d started.

“I was a kid, Listy.”

“Still!” He dabbed at his eyes. “I can’t picture you as a kid, man.”

“Oh? Well, it’s easy with you, because you’re about as mature as one. Possibly less.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lister looked at the scar again. If they’d been able to touch, he would surely have kissed it often as they lay together, perhaps after they’d - but that was a silly line of thought. “Can I…”

Rimmer nodded. _How did he know what I meant?_ Lister traced the scarred jaw with his finger, feeling the weak static tingle that he could never be sure was real. He had decided long ago that he didn’t care.

Moments later, he had to remind himself that he also didn’t care if their kisses weren’t real as such.


	6. Lures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Series VI. For the purposes of this story, the crew have not lost Red Dwarf.

There was something disturbing about the way Mr Lister was gazing off into space, sucking the remnants of a choccie nut bar off his fingers. Neither activity was in itself new, but the look in his eyes, which Kryten couldn’t identify no matter how many times he ran it through his database, definitely was. Ah, maybe he could ask Mr Cat! Although he was prone to confusion on many topics, he was rather good on others — he had a sixth or higher cat sense about things that humans either missed or ignored.

He could therefore be forgiven, Kryten decided, for laughing long and loud at the question, especially as the other two weren’t around to hear him.

“First of all, Eraser Head, he ain’t staring into space. He’s looking at something.”

“Oh, really, Mr Cat? What could it be? I’ve tried following his gaze, but I didn’t see anything worth looking at.”

“That’s because it’s _not_ worth looking at, buddy!” Mr Cat laughed again. After he had laughed for a solid minute, Kryten felt that it was his duty to interrupt. “I’m sorry to say, sir, that I don’t follow.”

Mr Cat elegantly wiped a single tear from his right eye. “You mean you haven’t noticed? I’ve been all alone in being disgusted?”

“Disgusted! By what?”

“Lister stares at - man, I can’t even say it.” More giggles. “He stares at Alphabet Head’s ass! And you can tell from all that finger-licking that his mind is dirtier than his socks! Yuck!”

Long after Mr Cat had danced away down the corridor, Kryten stood rooted to his spot. His faith in the feline’s sixth-plus sense had been completely shattered.

\------

Lister was backed up against the wall as usual, waiting for Rimmer to finish getting his shave and haircut. It was a shame; even in hologrammatic form, a five-o’clock shadow and curls were appealing. Why, he couldn’t say.

The non-movement of the mattress as Rimmer lay down made him think of faces. Rimmer had been clean-shaven on the day they’d kissed, so everything had felt smooth, not so different to kissing a girl. He wondered if it was true that stubble burned your face.

“Lister?” An insubstantial hand passed back and forth in front of his eyes. “Are you with us?”

“Huh?” Lister rolled his mind back to where it had been before. “Sorry. I was - I had a question.”

“If it’s about your cigarettes, I asked Kryten to hide them for awhile so you could cut down. He agrees with me, by the way, that you shouldn’t smoke every five minutes.”

“Eh? Oh, not that, man.” _Kryten, you traitor._ “I was going to ask — what’s with the trousers?”

The hologram blinked. “What do you mean?”

“They’re, you know…” Lister felt the fond smile on his face stretching into a sly grin. “They’re tight. Very, erm, showy.”

Rimmer’s response was swift and unexpected. “They’re comfortable. Are you complaining?”

 _Smegging hell._ “Well, I - no. Not complaining, no.” Why was his heart going so fast?

\------

The simple scouting trip had turned into something else entirely, as per smegging usual. Lister was stood at the monitor, almost drooling. “Kochanski!”

“Dave? Is that you?”

If it had been physically possible, Rimmer would have hit his head against the wall until he couldn’t feel it anymore. 

“You’re a father. Here they come! Jim, Bexley, come to Mummy.”

“Wait, don’t do anything, I’m coming in! Kryten, bazookoids. Rimmer, plot a course.”

 _Oh, for the love of -_ “Lister, tune into Sanity FM!”

Lister looked crushed. “You saying they were Psirens?”

“Of course! It’s as plain as a Bulgarian pin-up!” Rimmer didn’t know where all this rage was coming from, nor did he care overmuch. Then there was his cock-up with the meteorite and the crash landing, and embarrassment wiped away his anger for awhile.

Lister felt a familiar panic rise in his throat as he sat next to his double, waiting to be judged. This bore unpleasant similarities to the Inquisitor incident, except he seemed to be in even more immediate danger this time, what with both Kryten and the Cat pointing guns at their faces.

 _Rimmer! Look at me!_ Logically, Rimmer couldn’t pick up telepathic signals, and the Psiren was a perfect imitation. Still. They’d been so close this past year, studied each other in such detail for want of other things to do. Couldn’t he tell…? Then they shot the Psiren ( _phew_ ), and there was the squabble about his guitar-playing, and annoyance, followed by fear, wiped away his resentment for awhile.

He deftly caught Rimmer’s light bee after his projection had flickered and died; the smegger had forgotten to recharge, which wasn’t like him. _Don’t worry, man, I’ll keep you safe._ This turned out to be a bit of an empty promise — if Kryten hadn’t saved them, he would hardly have been in a position to keep it — but there was no way of knowing that at the time.

\------

Lister leaned against the shower wall, letting the water fall straight down on his head as if it could wash away the less savoury parts of his day.

Kochanski, was it always going to be Kochanski? And Jim and Bexley, but that was a whole other issue that he didn’t want to touch. The others — Pete Tranter’s sister, the weather girl from Channel 27, fake Kryten — those had been stupid, really, now that he thought about it. But the urge to run in and save Kochanski and their supposed sons had been so real, so strong.

There was another niggling detail… ah, right. Well, a Psiren Rimmer would hardly have made sense, anyway, since Rimmer was in Starbug the whole time.

  


Rimmer stretched out in his bunk, leaving no room for Lister.

Kochanski, was it always going to be Kochanski? Lister had lost Jim and Bexley in a frankly cruel twist of fate, so that part was…and there had been the others, which Lister had told them about on their way back, but Kochanski seemed to be the strongest draw.

Lister had seen a Kryten even though Kryten was supposed to be in Starbug the whole time. Why not a Rimmer? Then again, why should that bother him? It wasn’t as though they were - 

The bathroom door opened. “Hiya.” Lister’s voice was gravelly, tired. “I think I’ll go straight up. I’m knackered.”

Rimmer glanced over, and his pseudo-breath caught. Why should Lister’s still-glistening face make him feel so unsettled? “’Night, then.”

“’Night, man. Lights!”

Rimmer closed his eyes. 

“Hey, Rimmer?”

“Yeah?”

“Take better care of your battery from now on. You scared me back there.”

“Yes, Mummy,” he replied dryly, but his lips turned up in a smile all the same.


	7. Together

Rimmer was being distant. He was probably going through one of his cold phases, during which he couldn’t bear for them to “touch” because the lack of sensation was too depressing. It would pass, it always did; Lister just wished it would hurry up.

  


This was not one of his cold phases, more of a general chill. Ever since the Psirens, Rimmer had been trying to define what he had with Lister and utterly failing.

They had never discussed exclusivity or how far this would go, physically or temporally. They just _were_. The day-to-day was simple enough: They shared confidences, sought comfort through physical and emotional proximity, and looked out for one another. Recently, there had been flirting — some innuendo, if you liked, and a few discussions of attractive qualities. Only a few.

The fact was that as long as Rimmer was a hologram (which of course he would be for the duration), anything more was off the table. Moreover, if by some chance either of them found another option (as it were), they couldn’t reasonably expect their half-relationship to take precedence. So really, they were quite safe from frank discussions of love or want — it was all irrelevant.

But then, what _was_ relevant? Did his jealousy, for example, have a place in all this?

\------

They’d set a course for a vegetated planet. Some fresh air, some new plant specimens for the botanical gardens — that was all they’d wanted. But no; life would be too dull for the Boys from the Dwarf, some higher power or law of averages had decreed, unless their excursion was interrupted by a suction beam that led them to a mysterious masked being.

“And you are Rimmer, the hologram. May I?”

_May you wh -_

  


Lister stared in astonishment as the green-suited masked…thing disembowelled Rimmer’s light bee. 

“Primitive. So basic.” _What the hell??_ He held his breath and looked to Kryten for guidance, but the mechanoid seemed as bemused as he was.

After pulling out what seemed like a thousand yards of wire, Green-Suit plopped a small metal object inside the bee and tossed it. Rimmer reappeared, to Lister's great relief, but - had his clothes turned blue?

“You’d better have a mighty damn fine explanation for what you’ve just done, miladdio.” Oh, yes, Rimmer was back, and in fine form. Yes.

“Forgive me. I merely converted your projection unit from soft-light to hard-light.”

“Hard-light?”

Did that mean…? Lister answered his own question by poking Rimmer in the stomach. _Holy smeg._

“I’ve got a body? I can touch?” Rimmer’s hand (!) prodded his shoulder, _holy smeg!_ “Feel?”

Before Lister could fully marshal his thoughts on this development, his gut was being sliced open for a crude appendectomy.

\------

Legion was a nutter, but Lister couldn’t be too angry with him at the moment. Not only had he given everyone a perfect “cell”, but he’d also given Rimmer a body. A body that could be held and touched. Lips that could be kissed.

Lister’s insides churned with glee, anticipation, and - he put a hand over his racing heart and tried to calm his breathing. As much as he wanted to find Rimmer this instant, he had to think about the implications.

He had thought about the sexual side of things, but not often — after all, Rimmer was always going to be an intangible light-being. Or so they’d thought. Now…he recalled Low Rimmer. The lascivious looks, the “I’m going to have you.” Did that mean, necessarily, that Rimmer had the same desire? Did _he_ have it?

The kiss. He’d pushed and pushed it to the back of his mind, but now the memory was returning with a vengeance. His hand rose to touch his lips; his eyes closed in pleasure. Even as the precious moment was being snatched away, it had felt so right, so worth holding onto. He (they?) had been so happy.

Lister turned and strode out the door without looking back.

\------

It took a long time to wash out the Mimosian food, but at the moment, Rimmer could hardly complain about having a physical form. He marvelled at the feel of soap and water on his skin ( _Skin!_ ) and in his hair ( _Hair!_ He could even have real haircuts if he so wished!), the touch of cotton on flesh. Which reminded him…

He sensed Lister’s presence before he lowered the towel from his face. He did it slowly, unsure — oh, all right, frightened — of what would happen once he looked into those eyes.

 _Smeg_! Lister had come up much closer than he’d thought. _Kissing distance,_ like in the Despair Squid hallucination, right before Kryten had told them - he shook his head, banishing the images of Billy and Sebastian from his mind.

“Hi.”

Had Lister said something? It didn’t matter; the very next moment, they were in each other’s arms, kissing as furiously as they had that first (no longer only) time. 

It didn’t matter that Rimmer was unsure about how to label their relationship, because here they were, lips glued together, hands roving and learning and remembering. Oh god, now he remembered. He could finally remember how it had felt that day. And now Lister was pushing him toward the bed. Now they fell onto it, still kissing, limbs pushing and competing in their haste to feel what had been denied them for so long.

Lister pulled away, gasping. “Sorry, I - I still need to breathe.” He stayed close, his hands cradling Rimmer’s face. Rimmer found that he felt breathless too — a simulated feeling, no doubt, but a wonderful one. And it was even more wonderful when the kissing resumed.

  


Lister ran a hand over the blue quilted jacket, exploring, but his eyes were still on Rimmer’s face, trying to find the right moment to speak. After a few minutes of this, he decided not to wait any longer; there was never going to be a perfect time. He reached over and took Rimmer’s hand.

“There’s something I need to say.”

He felt the hand in his tense, and he stroked it reassuringly (he hoped). “It’s nothing bad. I mean, I hope it isn’t.”

Their eyes met. _No turning back._ “What is it?”

“Remember what the other you - you know, the bad version - I told you what he said.” Smeg. This was harder than he’d expected.

“Yes,” Rimmer replied almost inaudibly. “That he wanted…”

“Right. So - ” Lister inhaled deeply, summoning what courage he had left. “If you want, I’m yours. You can…have me.” There. Now he could manage a smile.

For what seemed like whole minutes, Rimmer stared back at him. His mouth occasionally moved like he was about to speak, but no sound came out. Then finally —

“Are you sure?”

Lister's face relaxed into a bigger smile. He had never felt more sure in his life. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“You're still not my type, you know…”

“Nor are you mine, Rimmer, yet here we are.”

They dissolved into nervous laughter for a little while, but soon they were kissing again with the urgency that had been hidden from them the better part of a year.

  
 _I’m yours._

That short sentence repeated itself thousands of times in Rimmer’s mind that night. When their naked bodies found one another and came together, it became an encouraging roar, something that spurred him on to fight through the nerves that were obscuring his desire.

As their hands and mouths met and touched and caressed, he realised that he — _they_ — had wanted this for a long time. It was simple, really: he needed Lister, and Lister needed him. Mentally, emotionally, and…

… the strong puffs of air on his shoulder gave way to lips, then teeth, then vibration as Lister cried out in equal parts joy and _want_ , and it set his whole body alight. He lost himself awhile in the sensation, barely aware of where he was or _who_ he was, but held secure by that refrain: _I’m yours._

When his mind started working again, Rimmer looked deep into Lister’s tired eyes. There was something important he had to say.

“I’m all yours, Listy.”

Lister wrapped him in his arms, and they fell asleep together for the first time.

  


Across the complex, Legion curled up on his bed, exhausted but happy. He could get used to these guests.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Series VII content. Red Dwarf is still not lost.

Rimmer was leaning against the bunks, weary and annoyed after their misadventure in 1960s Dallas. He, like Kryten and Cat, had _not_ deemed a low stock of madras sauce and poppadums to be a red-alert disaster worth blowing a hole in history.

Never one to be put off by a disapproving frown, Lister threw himself into Rimmer’s arms and buried his face in the squashy blue jacket. “Hey.”

“‘Thank you, Rimmer, for saving me from certain death by stomping,’” Rimmer sing-songed into the top of his head. “Remind me again why I put up with you?”

Lister thought for a moment, then looked up with a triumphant grin. “Because I’m really good in bed.”

Rimmer pretended to consider this. “What use is that if you’re more attracted to curry than to me?”

“Shut up, man.”

“No, I’m serious. You’d shag curry if it wouldn’t give you third-degree burns.” Lister shivered as kisses were sucked on his neck, then over to his throat, down to his collarbone. “I bet you have erotic dreams about chicken vindaloo. How often do you dream about me in comparison?”

“Pretty often, I’ll have you know. Now will you stop taking the smeg and kiss me prop - mmph.”

\------

“I can’t sleep,” rumbled a soft voice against Rimmer’s bare chest. To him it was the loveliest voice in the galaxy, even when it made strange requests. “Sing me a song or something.”

“After what you’ve put me through today? I don’t think so, miladdo.”

Lister laughed quietly. “Wore you out, eh? See, I am good in bed.”

True, but Rimmer liked to think he had got quite good as well. He sometimes wondered what Lister enjoyed the most: Leading him to hide in Starbug so that they could stay wrapped up in each other for hours; or asking to be taken hard and have obscene things said in his ear because that made him fall apart like nothing else; or occasionally flipping that scenario; or the maddeningly short morning lie-ins; or the sleepy talks afterwards.

Oh, yes, before he forgot: “It’s not a song, but I love you.”

“Love you too.”

\------

Ace — this Ace — was dying, which was sad. He was trying to recruit a successor, which was understandable. It was just that he’d come looking in the wrong dimension.

“Skipper, it’s the only way. Someone’s got to take the flame, look after this old universe after I’m gone.”

Lister shook his head resolutely. “I’m sorry, Ace. I really am. Rimmer and me…we waited so long for each other.” The tears were already starting. Maybe he did cry too much, but smeg it; this was important, and he was scared. “I can’t lose him. I can’t.”

“Yes, Kryters told me…” Ace sighed. “Not a total surprise, but yours is the first dimension I’ve visited where it was so open. So dedicated. Knocked me for six, to be honest.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I didn’t expect to run into, well, this.”

Although Lister refrained from voicing his thoughts in case Ace had any history with his Lister, he felt sorry for those Listers and Rimmers. Granted, some of them were probably happy with their Kochanskis or McGruders, perhaps even Nirvanah Cranes, but there had to be others who had felt that pull, who wanted to be together but couldn’t, for whatever reason…hmm.

“Could we do it together?”

“Together?”

“Yeah. Listen, it was possible for you, or your ship, to revisit our dimension, yeah? Dimension jumping isn’t one-way?”

“Not anymore, no. She’s got damn good at identifying and tracking inter-dimensional pathways. I understand a few of my predecessors visited home quite frequently, and I’ve ferried the odd lost soul between dimensions myself.”

“That’s it, that’s it!” Lister clapped his hands delightedly. “Rimmer! Rimmer!”

Ace’s wig flopped to one side as he cocked his head. “Forgive me, Davey-boy, but I’m not sure I see your point.”

“What is it, Listy?” Rimmer poked his head into the room.

“I think I’ve got a solution.”

\------

The newly-minted Ace Rimmer stood in the drive room, tugging uncomfortably on his furry lapels. Despite how ridiculous he looked and felt, he was smiling, because his very own Dave Lister was at his side.

“See you, Kryters. See you, Cat, old chum.” _Ugh._

“Well, I hate to admit it, Goalpost Head, but that was pretty convincing,” Cat allowed. “Just remember: If you find a planet with lady cats, you’re flying me there immediately.”

“Indeed, sir. Now, don’t worry about a thing. I’m sure you’ll make a fine Ace, especially with Mr Lister to support you.” Rimmer decided to brush off the backhanded compliment. He knew Kryten was sick with worry over Lister; say anything untoward and he might explode in tears.

“Thanks, chaps. Smoke me a kipper, I’ll be back for breakfast.” _Honestly, of all the **ludicrous** …_

“Yeah, we really will. Promise.” Lister beamed at their crewmates, then up at him. “Come on, Ace.”

\------

“Let’s go over it one more time,” Lister instructed from the cramped passenger seat. “A beautiful princess says, ‘Oh, Ace, make love to me now!’ What do you say?”

Rimmer looked sickened by Lister’s princess impression, but he played along, voice and all. “Terribly sorry, my love, but I’m afraid I’m no longer on the market.”

“Not bad! And then I casually drape my arm round your waist - ”

“Yes, yes, and then you kiss passionately,” a smooth female voice cut in. “We should get going, Ace. And Dave.”

Lister chuckled silently. They had had a job convincing the computer to accept this arrangement in addition to the new Ace, but it had all been worth it, every minute. He reached over to take Rimmer’s hand, just because he could, and Rimmer gave it a squeeze.

“Right, Computer. Take us out to the big black.”

And they jumped.


End file.
